


Into The West

by Thia (Jennaria)



Category: Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-13
Updated: 2003-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennaria/pseuds/Thia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The leave-taking at the Grey Havens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into The West

_And so they rode down at last to Mithlond, to the Grey Havens in the long firth of Lune._

Elves busy themselves all over the quay -- an odd sight, perhaps, for elves do not often hurry, but even in this their native grace shines through, even in the untying of water-tightened knots and the bracing of the wooden gangplank, dark against the white of the ship. It takes a moment for the eyes to adjust, and to realize that those who tend to the ship wear raven-dark clothing, close-fitted so it will not catch upon the tangles of rope and wood, but some pace upon the quay who wear dove-pale garb, and they do not work but rather stand and watch, their long sleeves shivering in the sea wind.

The boarding begins as soon as the gangplank is shipped – first one Elf, then another, then two together, a slight yet steady stream trickling upwards. A few look backward as they do so, but for no longer than the time it takes for a heart to beat twice, or a breath to escape their lips, tasting the salt of the air. Two linger upon the quay: one wrapped in grey like twilight, with midnight hair braided back about his shoulders, and one clad in white like moonshadow, fair hair a veil about her. These two look back and do not turn away. A small figure, hardly taller than a child, crosses over to them, his steps slow as if even yet he does not completely wake. He looks up when he reaches Elrond and Galadriel: Elrond nods gravely to him, and Galadriel smiles. Bilbo smiles in return: there is color in his cheeks again, snapped there by the ever-present wind, and a sparkle in his eyes. He bows politely to Elrond, and offers Galadriel his arm. She accepts, allowing her hand to rest lightly upon his shoulder, and the two of them proceed up the gangplank with Elrond pacing behind them. None of them look back again.

Only a few now linger. Cirdan measures out the wooden planks with his long strides, but does not look at those who have not boarded. Gandalf, robed in white, stands with his hand upon Shadowfax's neck, though the touch does not calm the horse: he stares off into the West with bright, wild eyes, and he trembles as if awaiting the signal for a race. Gandalf himself does not watch the horse, but rather the only four remaining who are not Elves, four hobbits. Meriadoc Brandybuck. Peregrin Took. Samwise Gamgee. Frodo Baggins. There are tracks of tears upon all their cheeks, even Gandalf's.

Frodo glances over his shoulder at the ship, then takes a deep breath. He turns first to Merry, clapping him on one shoulder as one might a soldier, for Merry stands glorious in his Rohan finery rather than in Shire trousers and tunic and waistcoat, then kisses him gently on one cheek. Merry gazes at him, eyes over-bright, but Frodo moves on to Pippin. Pippin looks down at him with a watery smile: he too is resplendent in the robes of a Knight of Gondor, but he clasps Frodo to him with the embrace of kindred. Frodo smiles too, gentle and distant, and kisses Pippin upon his cheek.

At last, he turns to Sam. His smile fades, and his breath catches in his throat, for Sam weeps without sobs, clear-eyed though the wind dries the tears to salt upon his cheeks. Frodo reaches out without thinking, then hesitates, meeting Sam's eyes rather than embracing him as he did his cousins. Sam steps forward abruptly, catching Frodo by the shoulders and pulling him into an embrace tight as if he doesn't mean to let go. Frodo turns his head hardly at all and they kiss, mouths open against each other: Frodo bone-pale as if all color has too long ago drained from him, his fingers tight in Sam's golden hair; Sam bright in home weaving, hands just as tight around Frodo's back.

At last Frodo's fingers loosen, then Sam's grip, and Frodo steps back, first one step, then two, tears glittering upon his cheeks. At last he turns and follows Gandalf down the quay and up the gangplank. He does not look back.

The Elves still on the quay wear only the dark, close garb. They cry to each other, sharp and quick as the gulls, and all too quick the gangway is unshipped, the hawsers cast off, and the sails catch that ever-blowing wind. Sam has not moved since Frodo walked away, nor have Merry and Pippin. As the ship moves away, light glimmers from the stern, then leaps into glorious brightness. Frodo stands there, a small pale figure on a white ship, and he holds aloft the Phial of Galadriel, shining in the darkness. Sam watches the light, and its bearer, as the ship sails slowly off, until the evening is lost to the night, and the last whisper of light is vanished out upon the sea, and the only sound left is the restless waves.

It is far longer than the time it takes a heart to beat twice before Merry at last shifts his weight, and exchanges a glance with Pippin, and longer than the time it takes for a breath to escape the lips before Sam turns away and walks to his pony. They all mount up and ride away. Sam keeps his eyes fixed ahead and does not look back. In his eyes, the echo of starlight lingers.

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> About a week ago, after hearing one too many spoilers, I lost it. I want the Grey Havens, I declared: I want to look them in the eye. At which point Irisbleu reminded me of an image I sent her, long ago, of Frodo and Sam and the final farewell at the Grey Havens, and told me to 'write'. This is the result. Thanks go to Frayach and Lois for looking this over.


End file.
